Chapter 32 Maybe, just maybe, our sisters are the fallers
Maybe, just maybe, our sisters are the fallers
The sounds of dishes clacking and sponges rubbing against stone plates is punctuated with rapid bursts of water being turned on and off. My arms are crossed on my chest, making it obvious when I take my angry deep breaths.
To talk in such a manner about your own child. And to sit there doing nothing when your sister is getting berated.
‘I—’ he starts, his hands opening and closing into tight fists at his sides.
I don’t say a word. My lids feel heavy, needing to block my heart from the sight in front of me.
‘Your mum—’ he says.
‘Is dead.’ I nod.
The chefs pack up and quietly shuffle out of the apartment. Sophie is standing behind me, biting down on a cuticle. I flash a sad smile at her, and she smiles back.
‘I am sorry for having a go at your parents.’
‘Oh.’ She pulls the finger away, surprised that I addressed her. ‘It’s fine.’
I don’t think it was. It wasn’t my finest moment, provoking parents of my not-yet-and-now-possibly-never boyfriend into having a shouting match with me.
‘You just sat there.’ I finally break, snapping my head back to Toby.
‘You sat there and listened to the horrible things they were saying. You didn’t even intervene when I told your lot about Mr. Douchebag from the coffee shop.
You let me believe that your sister is this delinquent that’s falling behind in life, when actually she is not as perfect as you, perfect little Toby.
It’s not kind. It’s not nice. That’s not who you are. ’
I wait for him to respond. But he says nothing. He just stands there, looking at the floor.
I click my tongue, go to the lift, and put my shoes on. I wave my hand around, but the lift doesn’t arrive. How the fuck did four people exit this apartment right before me? Sophie comes with me, and the doors open for her straight away as she slides her boots on.
‘How the hell—’ I gawk, walking into the lift. ‘I am sorry about saying those things to your parents.’
‘You are pretty cool, Fuko.’ She laughs when the doors close. ‘I’m just glad that someone outside the family noticed it. They have a way of making you think it’s all in your head.’
‘They are asshats,’ I grumble with a nod.
‘But Toby...’ she says quietly. ‘Please do not think that he isn’t a good brother. He is. He tried to stand up for me when we were younger, but when he does, he becomes a target.’
‘In what sense?’ Did those fuckers lie? Do they actually abuse their children?
‘If Toby deviates from his path, the one that they’ve chosen for him, they can get... nasty.’
‘Nastier than this?’
‘In a sense. I don’t know how to explain it without it sounding like I’m making it up, but they can make you feel really small.’
That’s exactly how I felt after an hour with them. ‘I can believe that.’
‘Toby is expected to be perfect. I am the runt. Which is weird, because I don’t think they’ve ever actually said that to either of us, but they just make sure that with every fibre of your being, you know that that’s what they think of you.’
‘We didn’t press the button.’ I press the green G.
It goes down two floors, then she hits Stop.
‘Their expectations of him are so heavy that—’ Her voice wobbles and tapers away.
‘Yes?’ My ribcage is squeezing my lungs and my heart.
‘Toby... hasn’t been doing well for a while... mentally. I’ve been very worried about him, that he might... do something to himself.’
The meaning of her sentence doesn’t reach me. I blink a couple of times just to make sure this wasn’t in my head. The words chisel at the marble in my head but no shape forms. No understanding comes. How could any meaning form from something so far removed from my reality?
‘He’s been different since his skiing accident,’ she reassures me. ‘Calmer and more playful, but I can’t help but worry.’
‘I forgot my stuff’—I realise—‘in Toby’s fridge.’
‘I’m not going to go up if that’s okay, the dinner was a bit much for me. If you speak to him, please don’t mention what I said to you. He might get mad that I’m airing his dirty laundry like this.’
‘Oh, okay.’ My mouth moves without processing what Sophie just told me.
There is only one thing on my mind. Toby.
Toby.
I need to make sure he is okay. I need him to know that I was wrong for shouting at his parents and blaming him. He needs to know that I’m here.
The lift crawls up, ignoring my pleas to hurry. I hold my breath, fearing what state I might find him in.
‘Toby?’ I ask, not seeing him on the couch in the living room.
My heart sinks at the thought of opening the bathroom door and finding him there, but it’s empty. ‘Toby?!’ I scream louder.
His bedroom door slowly opens, a defeated and soft voice calls out, ‘Fuko? Why are you here?’
‘I left my cooking stuff here. It was a solid ￡40 of ingredients. Not all of us are made of money,’ I say, trying to make a joke, but it comes out a lot harsher than I wanted.
My hand locks around the opposite elbow. He awkwardly strokes behind his neck, rolling his head into it.
‘I—’ I say.
‘This was—’ he says at the same time.
‘Oh, sorry, please.’ I gesture to him to keep talking.
‘No, what were you going to say?’
‘I was just going to say that I am sorry about being so harsh. I think your parents have a lot of expectations of you. I just got defensive because I thought about Hanako.’
‘No, I get that. I’m not impressed with myself either. I’m sorry you got to see that.’
I look at him right now and see a young boy, who just wants to be loved and accepted by his parents. Who would do anything to please them. A boy who hides behind jokes, pranks, and humour, but is so hurt on the inside.
‘Honestly, sometimes it does feel like there is no way out from them,’ he jokes again, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice betrays him.
I’ve ignored the slips of darkness in him before, but now, ignoring Sophie’s advice to let go, I press on. ‘What do you mean by a way out?’
The question surprises him. It’s too direct. I’ve let these comments slide for too long. He changes his weight off his knee, as if there was a sudden shock that shot through it. Through his bad knee. From the skiing accident.
‘Toby,’ I say, unsure whether I’m correct, ‘how did the skiing accident happen?’
He is silent. I see his face trying to form a charming smile to match his witty response that he is preparing. But his eyes glaze over, betraying his true feelings.
I don’t let him say anything, placing his glasses on top of all of his NHS letters, forcing him into a tight hug. He lets out a sob, his hands dig into my back, head dropping onto my shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats again and again, shattering my heart into pieces.
My hand brushes over his hair, hoping to take away all the worries that might spin in his head.
His body is pressed against mine, but he is miles away, maybe somewhere on that mountain, maybe still sitting at the dinner table.
Or maybe he is still in his family home, feeling smaller and smaller every day.
Those moments when darkness cover the light behind his eyes, that’s what it was—him wanting a way out.
I let him stand and cry for as long as he needs. He tries to apologise again but I shush him.
Toby sits down on the bed, arms locked around my waist, head pressing into my stomach to hide his sobbing face from me.
I don’t know what to say or how to help.
All I want is for his pain to be gone, to go back five minutes to before I accused him of not being kind, because in truth, he is one of the kindest people I know.
My own anger about Sophie let me miss that his parents might seem nicer to him because they weren’t berating him in front of me, but that they actually raised him with the same level of cruelty.
‘I am so sorry.’ I hold him closer, feeling like I could never let him go.
His sniffles calm down, the stain on my top from his tears stops growing.
‘Sophie said that you’re a good brother. It’s your parents that are asshats.’
‘She said that?’
‘Well, no, I was the one who called them that.’
He strains out a laugh, slightly annoyed. ‘I meant the brother bit.’
I hug his head. ‘She did. She said that today was just a bad example and that you are great.’
A small final sniffle. ‘I feel like shit.’
‘I know. That salad did something funny to my stomach too.’
A big, full-bellied laugh erupts out of him. It is gentle and uncertain at first, getting bigger and bigger when I join in. He peels away from me and pulls me in for a kiss. His face is wet but is now brighter. ‘Such a stupid thing to say.’
I send a quick text to Dad, saying I’m going to stay at Leon’s to cheer him up after a bad date. He sends me the thumbs-up emoji.
Toby and I lie on the bed facing each other. His breathing has returned to normal, eyes still red and irritated. His fingers are stroking my cheeks.
‘Do you want to talk about today?’ I ask.
‘Did anyone ever tell you that you’re the prettiest girl alive?’
That’s a no, then.
‘Stop it.’ I shake my head.
‘I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.’
I bite my lip, realising I might ruin the mood. ‘Do you want the truthful answer or the one that will earn me some points?’
‘Truth?’ he asks wearily.
‘Someone did say that to me before.’ It comes out, and I immediately regret it.
‘Ugh, it was John, wasn’t it?’ Toby spits his name out as if it’s a venereal disease. ‘I will never understand why you were ever with him.’
‘Well, you were at Oxford, so I had to settle for someone less desirable,’ I deflect, hoping that my humour is enough to satisfy him.
It isn’t. He wants to know why. ‘For the longest time I wasn’t good with being alone.
I needed to be around people. What was it that your mother said?
Pathetic displays of attention due to lack of maternal care? ’
‘Do not quote my mother. As if she is the gold standard of parenting.’
‘Well, she hit the nail on the head with that one. It wasn’t just John, there were other boys before him.’